


The death of John Watson

by kimberli11



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternative Universe - Horror, Bad Ending, Dark John Watson, I Am Sorry, I didn't write the sex scene because it hurts, John is a psychopath, John is broken, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Poor Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Serial Killer, Sherlock doesn't come back himself, Sherlock doesn't talk much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberli11/pseuds/kimberli11
Summary: An alternative scenario of what could've happened after Sherlock's fake suicide. John is broken and decides to force his friend and secret love to come back, because he knows he's alive. There's no Mary, because John doesn't move on. Also I can't write sex scenes and I would be disgusted to write a rape scene, my poor Sherlock.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 20





	The death of John Watson

When Sherlock Holmes faked his own death, he didn't expect the drastic impact it'll have on John. Of course he had expected some kind of a deeper reaction, he did seen his friend fall dead to the ground and Sherlock could even feel how John checked his pulse and didn't find him, thanks to the little white ball, hidden under his sleeve. For two whole years, the detective was tortured on a russian island called Sachalin, from where he almost couldn't escape. After two years, he was returning to London, where he recovered for a while.

He thought about coming back to John, but then he admitted that he would rather not come back at all. John was definitely better without him and he could even put the man in much more danger then he was in before. Sherlock wouldn't be able to bear that. He didn't wanted to see his only true friend hurt again, it was a sickening feeling. He then decided, that after he recovers from his bruises, which he has from the torture, and solves everything that he needs in London, he will leave the city even with Mycroft's annoying convincing. 

Two years. Two years and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John Watson sat in the empty flat of 221B Baker Street day after day and stared at the empty seat in front of hím with blank eyes. He refused to belive that what he's seen was real. He couldn't convince himself, that the only man he has ever fell in love with, is dead. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't just cowardly commit suicide, he thought. It was just impossible. John got up only when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, to use the bathroom, or get food, drink and some sleep. He was slowly becoming a complete wreck of a person. 

He sat like a ball of sadness in front of the detective's grave and again and again read the little words, that were carved into the cold stone; You were the best thing in my life. Love, John Watson. He was devastated. He should've said this to Sherlock himself, it wasn't supposed to be here. He repeated the words again and again in his head, tears slowly dripping from his eyes. How could this be true? 

The third year should've been better. It wasn't. Mrs. Hudson noticed that John is still a mess and even with him rapidly refusing, she signed him up to a psychologist. He locked in the bedroom that day and didn't come out for a long time. It wasn't his bedroom, it was Sherlock's. He lied on his bed, his head buried in the perfect man's pillow. It still smelled like him. He cried for a long time, unable to do anything happy in his terrible current life. 

For whole months, he was leaving Sherlock's room only to stare at the kitchen knife, or the gun on the shelf. Sometimes he stared on a rope he found somewhere in the apartment. He even climbed the stairs to the damn building, where he has seen the detective for the last time and just sat on the edge, watching the sky above him. How did Sherlock feel, when he stood here? Was he feeling sorry? Did he know what it'd do to John? 

After this, the past military doctor realized, that his actions didn't make any sense. It was stupid to take his own life, when that damn coward ran around somewhere, more alive than ever. He began constructing his marvelous plan on how to lure Sherlock like a wild animal. He has to break him someday. John nocited his friends slowly drifting away from him. Mrs. Hudson didn't come to their flat anymore and he gave her the rent under the door every month. He got something from Sherlock's big brother, so he had a fair amount of money and he didn't care for a job thanks to that.

He didn't see Molly, Greg or those two idiots Donovan and Anderson for a long time. He didn't care. The only person he truly needed was Sherlock. He finally knew what he has to do. What could be more effective to lure that curious detective, whom he was still blindly in love with. John Watson wasn't stupid. Some poeple could even think he was just a bit less smart than Sherlock Holmes himself. Even though he didn't know the science of deduction and was always the heart from the two of them, he was intelligent. Also the deep desire of seeing those beautiful blue and green eyes, sharp cheekbones and curly dark hair, the desire of hearing his barytone voice again, propeled his mind forward. 

The army doctor was a smart murderer. The police and detectives from the whole state were investigating his case, they never succeeded of course. A lot of private detectvies were called and for John's dissapointment, Sherlock still didn't come. Oh he will come. In a little while, he will be lured to my little trap like a fly on a spider's web. Just you wait, sweetheart. You will never run again from me again. Oh you won't be able to run, don't you worry, Sherlock.

Slowly John's mind started to lack other thoughts, that weren't about his murders and his obsession with Sherlock Holmes, which was getting bigger everytime. He didn't count his kills anymore. He was getting angry. Where is that little prick? If he doesn't show up soon, I will look for him myself. He doesn't know how bad it'd get for him.

Sherlock Holmes was imapatiently walking around his new apartment. That crazy serial killer wasn't caught yet. He would normally go there in an instant, but it was close to their old flat and he didn't want to accidently run into John. He was getting sick of it though and was also acquainted with the fact, that the killer was a serious threat to John. If he got to know about his murder one day, he would never forgive himself in a lifetime. He then returned to London and began to search for the killer on his own note.

Something felt wrong. It was as if the murderer lured him to himself, it was just weird. Sherlock already had him the second day that he serached for him. He was smart, didn't leave a single trace after himself, that would get him to his identity. The only thing he knew about him was that he was a man. Now the detective was standing in a dark tunnel and began to notice that this must've been the end of his investigation. He smelled the blood and heard its sound, the sound of it dripping from a simple kitchen knife. It was almost unbelievable how careful this murderer was. 

Sherlock frowned and stepped into the tunnel. He didn't have anything to lose anymore. If this man kills him right here right now, he will at least know who's behind all these murders. He grabbed the gun from his coat pocket and pointed it directly at the man's back. Sherlock finally spoke. 

,,Hands up!" the detective raised his voice and waited for the man to do something. He didn't move a muscle. Instead, he heard a loud laugh and Sherlock freezed. He knew that laugh too well. The man in front of him threw his flashlight against the wall and the whole tunnel lighted up thanks to that. Shocked Sherlock was standing face to face with his best friend. John Watson was standing there with bloody knife and a pile of bodies. John Watson was now looking at him with pure amusement and delight. It was like he just achieved something.

,,Look who's here. He finally came to check on me," the doctor laughed loudly again. He avoided the bodies and started walking closer to Sherlock. Even though the detective was the one with a gun, he slowly began to walk backwards. His hands were shaking. His body could no longer aim at John Watson. Sherlock dropped the gun. It fell down into a pool of blood, there was a loud splash. 

,,Hm," John smiled a bit, bowed down, grabbed the gun and hid it in his pocket. ,,Pretty little welcoming present, Sherlock. I am also happy to see you," now he was standing right in front of the detective that wasn't able to move anymore. This wasn't real, he thought. This couldn't be real. ,,Why?" was the only thing, that was Sherlock able to say. John grinned. He waited for this question for three months and it finally came. He finally got to see the man, that was asking it. 

,,My dearest detective, is it really so hard for you to figure it out? I thought you were the smarter one," John jokingly tilted his head. When Sherlock stayed silent and didn't say anything, with a amused grin he continued. ,,Those three years without you were unbearable. You broke my heart, you know that? You took it in your hand and smashed it to little pieces, those pieces you then threw into the sea. Every day could be my last. I wanted it to be my last but, how good could death be? You, Sherlock, were alive the whole time. I just knew it. Did you see that little message on your grave? I should've told you myself," John breathed out and suddenly began shouting, making Sherlock flinch. 

,,For God's sake, you should've known from me, Sherlock! I wanted to tell you over and over once you come back! But not you, you just left for three years! Three damn years I live in that damn apartment on my own!" the shorter man finally calmed down, when he saw the deep regret in Sherlock's eyes. ,,You look like you're sorry. And you will be even more sorry, don't you worry. You came to me so easily, I knew I'd get you to come back. You think I regret what I did? Not a bit. You are here thanks to those idiots," he pointed at the bodies and then stabbed Sherlock with the back of the knife, which made him gasp in surprise. ,,Now, my dearest Sherlock, we'll go back to our flat and there we will talk about this. I will explain how big your mistake was. You will beg for mercy-" John then stopped talking and grinned in mischief. He reached out his hand and wrapped one of Sherlock's curls around his finger.

,,Oh no. You will beg me to punish you more. Don't you worry about that, sweetie," and with those words he took the dark-haired man's hand and they walked out of the tunnel together. Sherlock didn't even fight back, he just stared at the man, that was holding his hand and wondered about him being real. Isn't he hallucinating, didn't he slid a needle in his arm without him knowing? No, this was real. And it was his own fault.

The dark-haired detective's blank eyes were staring at the ceiling. Next to him, there lied a serial killer, which he would just yesterday refer to as his friend. Now Sherlock was terrified. For the first time in his life, he feared another person. ,,You begged, Sherlock," smiled John, cupping Sherlock's cheek. ,,You must've liked it, you begged me to continue." He petted Sherlock's hair and grinned. 

,,You are now mine, do you understand, Sherlock?" he asked the curly-haired man with a serious stare. ,,No one can touch you. You will lay in this bedroom and you will wait for my return every evening, like a good boy. Are you my good boy?" Sherlock just silently nodded his head. 

,,I love you," John whispered in his ear and Sherlock shivered. A single tear streamed down his cheek.

He couldn't run anymore. He killed John Watson and now he will be punished for the rest of his life. His only hope was that his last breath will be soon. He wasn't sure for how much longer he can bear this torture.


End file.
